


De bleu, de blanc et de rouge

by Name_Taken



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, French Revolution, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name_Taken/pseuds/Name_Taken
Summary: The Guillotine rises high on the Place de la Révolution waiting for all those who oppose its sharp values. Flynn is a revolutionnary who try to keep his ideas in line with those of others until he meets the late king's spy and something changes in him, unless he comes to change something in the other.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. La Terreur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cadoan for being my beta <3  
> See translations at the end

The bells rang and the Revolution began. Flynn remembered it perfectly, he followed all of those starving people on the way to the Bastille, on the way to a new world, to a better future, the end of a world. In a day the world the redhead had known collapsed to make way for a new one full of uncertainties, hesitations, nameless horrors. The King tried to side with them, he had listened to them... at least, at the beginning. Then, he betrayed them, planting a knife in their backs, his promises going up in smoke. Everything had gone wrong afterwards, locked up in a former Capital palace where Flynn had been assigned to surveillance. Surveillance of what? The Revolutionary saw before his eyes only the downfall of the Nobility and the Clergy of the former kingdom of France falling into a kind of pale copy of dramatic comedy.

This comedy of deep irony, Flynn had observed it since the beginning of the events. When everything had begun Flynn struggled in his life, he wasn’t born well off, quite the contrary, he must have felt happy to have a roof over his head, but even though the said roof sheltered from lifeless bad weather was not much more miserable than that of the destitute outside. He went outside in the street with all the others howling, screaming starvation, rebelling against the masquerade which took place in this supposedly most powerful country in the world. He had followed the crowd to the Bastille. Armed with a stolen saber he had killed some of the soldiers responsible for defending the building. Just like everyone in this mess. Blood had been spilled on the path of the Revolution from the beginning. And the people had seized the building. He didn’t care of the look at the curious watching the massacre as they were watching a puppet show in a village square. The Parisians, who had taken the Bastille, were already busy recovering souvenirs, objects that belonged to the State, the stones of the building. Flynn had retrieved a stone from the building a few days later. A stone cut in the form of the late Bastille. And the events had followed one another. The violence had only grown. The state of the country had not calmed down and the rage present in the hearts of every French had only increased, hatred had taken precedence over reason and the country had plunged into a bloodbath. In a period which would later be known as "The Terror".

This reign of blood and tears began a few months after the king’s execution and some time before the Queen’s death. Flynn could still feel his tongue rolling in his mouth, his throat vibrating under the howl he had uttered when the king's head was brandished in front of the people. His voice had mingled with that of hundreds of other Parisians whose exasperation was beyond the limits of the possible. It had joined the echo screaming with joy "VIVE LA NATION ! VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE !” The voices had split the air with the same power as the guillotine had separated the head of this good old Louis from his body.

It was in this climate that Flynn was evolving now, he who had never weighed his words swallowed them when he knew he was risking denunciation. The climate had become unbreathable, unbearable. Everyone judged, ready to throw others in court so that their blood watered "the path to freedom and the Republic".  
The madness of the Revolution, of Terror, won the hearts of every citizen making them all more paranoid in the eyes of Flynn. And if there was one point on which he rejoiced, it was that of being alone, without wife or children, without family. No one risked stabbing him in the back, directing him to certain death, sending him to the scaffold. It was Flynn's last wish. Flynn who rubbed shoulders day after day with people condemned to this fatal fate. In his eyes, everyone, each of them was. Every day Flynn saw heads falling, he was often in the front row shouting at the Republic, screaming at the Nation. Of these men, of these women who were once noble and superior to him, only a few remained, bodies thrown into a shallowly dug earth with a layer of lime to make the traces of their existence disappear as quickly as possible. The Revolutionary had cut the hair of one of these ladies, tried to convert these men to these new values which took a powerful place in the hearts of the French without doing anything about it. None of them wanted to hear reason, like their King before them. "Innocent" dead king as he said, Flynn spat on the ground when he heard this reply of nameless stupidity. In the Conciergerie, Flynn had to, like many of his compatriots, take care of converting some of the prisoners to their revolutionary ideas, of making them hear reason. He knew that somewhere in one of the rooms was the Dauphin, the prince of France, a poor child who had been abused since the death of his father. But nobody said anything, everyone accepted this situation. After all, he deserved it if he was not strong enough to survive this cruel world. In this prison building many cells were common, some were individual, or contained fewer people. It was there that the noblest of their most useful prisoners were kept. The ones the Revolutionaries had a definite interest in. The redhead could approach them, he even had to, he had to confront these blue bloods with the real French, with those who knew what the people needed, those who carried the suffering of the country in their hearts.

The Revolution was dear to him, as it was dear to all the people of Paris, France and Navarre. All that was happening was just restoring the natural order of things, the world had to turn out like this. Flynn was persuaded to understand everything, to know this new world that they were going to create and it was with a lot of certainties that he had entered the cell of a prisoner who had just been transferred to the Concierge to await his execution, which would not be long in coming. Flynn's gray eyes plunged into bright green eyes and it was without a word that he closed the heavy door of wood and metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation :  
> "Vive la Nation ! Vive la République !" = "Long live the Nation ! Long live the Republic !"


	2. La conciergerie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Cadoan for being my beta <3

A slight draft could be felt. The air intruded through the streaks of the metal-clad wooden door. The wood had painfully cracked when the revolutionary had closed in on his shadow, being devoured in the bowels of the cell for the least well-lit. A window on the side of the room let in a fine ray of sunshine which ignited the red hair of the prisoner he had in front of him, the dim light making his eyes shine like two emeralds in the middle of a crown of those damn nobles whose heads fell like flies. The prisoner hadn't said a word when he’d seen the entrance, neither had he moved, he was content to gauge his gaze observing each of his movements attentively.

Flynn, for a moment observed this aristocrat while leaning his back against the door. He observed this person who was said to be the King's personal spy. When he looked at this so-called spy he noticed nothing special about him, he no longer wore these ridiculous wigs, any more than he wore these gold-woven frilly jackets. He only had a man in front of him, though he had to be wary. If he was the personal spy of the guillotined king then he must have had tricks up his sleeve and run away! The latter's escape was not acceptable to the revolutionaries. After a moment's hesitation he threw a piece of stale bread at the feet of the prisoner. ‘You are hungry ? Well eat brioche,’ said the queen. Now these words were brought to its course without further effort. They were feeding their prisoners. They were not going to let them starve in the same way the nobility did to them when they were starving in the street like the dogs that the nobility believed that they were. After throwing the bread, Flynn let himself slide into a seated position, still leaning against the door with his hand on his pistol as a precaution. ‘If necessary,’ he had been told.  
"Food. You won't have it until tomorrow "  
And with a vague gesture of his head he pointed to the piece of bread lying on the dirty stone floor.  
Even if he had wanted to give a cold or harsh tone to his voice, he would not have succeeded. Something about this prisoner made Flynn pity him, and the redhead was not known to be mean. ‘You’re a good Flynn guy,’ he kept getting told. Flynn did not like taking care of prisoners. He hadn't signed up for it. What he wanted was to accompany the others, to raise the flag in the streets of Paris, to demand more rights, money, food, dignity. Not to give stale bread to men who seal themselves away with the rest of their honor before their heads are separated from their shoulders in a melody of metal, flesh and broken bones. Now even the revolutionaries were starting to accuse each other. It left only a bitter taste in his mouth that even the mediocre wine he found to buy did not erase. Speaking of alcohol. Discreetly, from the inside pocket of his jacket he took out a small green bottle which he brought to his mouth to remove the cork butcher with his teeth and spit it on the ground before bringing it to his lips and stopping for a moment. His gaze rested on the hostage again and he raised his bottle.

" A sip ? "

He tried to make a vague smile that he wanted to be friendly. If he was caught offering alcohol to the spy, he was in danger. Reprimand, prison, guillotine ... he preferred not to think about it. Right now, that detail didn't matter, he just wanted to share his poor quality wine with the prisoner. No doubt it was going to be the last time in his life that the other was going to be able to taste alcohol. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the other decided to speak.  
" I do not drink alcohol "  
No doubt it was implied that he did not drink shit like that, but Fairwind did not hear the implication.  
"Come on mate! This is probably your last chance before the scaffold."  
In any other circumstance, the joke would have made the common people laugh, but never before had a joke like this reached the ears of the people up high. And, because of these circumstances, Flynn, like the prisoner, looked as if they had aged, that they were more exhausted than they should be. The prisoner was sentenced to death. No one was there without being sentenced to death, and the date of the prisoner's judgment and death sentence was only a matter of hours or less than a few days. Both were aware of it, even though neither of them said it out loud. However, the revolutionary could almost see the sword of Damocles hanging over the head of the emerald-eyed prisoner. The prisoner ended up leaning forward to take the piece of bread and wipe it with his dirty sleeve, he struggled to break the bread in half and put one of the half beside him. Flynn, his bottle still lifted, ended up lowering his arm and bringing the neck to his lips before adding :

“Your meal is like that of the Lord's last. It must be a sign of fate. "

He could almost have chuckled, this chance was cruel irony, and before he added anything the prisoner continued on his turn.

“I don't think chance has its place. No more than fate. We’ll see what comes out of it. "

The glow that Flynn could see in his eyes was almost a glimmer of challenge. He would bet his life on it. He got up and brandished his bottle for the last time, a more frank smile on his face he said goodbye.

"We'll see mate. Either you know the divine laws or not today they'll screw up. It's your word and that of others, so I doubt a guy like you will come out of it. "

And on his last words he came out of the room leaving the prisoner alone. Flynn had a hard time talking to the almost dead. You talked to them one day and the next day you saw their bones and flesh alive, the insects reveling in their remains. With his bottle still in his hand, he went back to a group of revolutionaries who, like him, took care of the prisoners, but if they physically attacked some of the former aristocrats, Flynn did not do the same, or he would pretend. He hadn't signed up for it.

"So, did you give the spy his last meal?" one said in a sing-song voice.  
"It’s for sure this time it’s the right one, I hope you made him pay for it Flynn!" another said, wrapping his arm around his shoulders to lead him closer to the happily joking group.

Flynn just smiled and nodded before adding jokingly :

"Bread and wine for the Lord!"

He shook the bottle under the nose of one of his companions with a smile before speaking one last time.  
"I've heard that it's for tomorrow. For real this time. They said they would take him down to the chapel and we all know what that means! "  
The smile on Flynn’s lips froze and the laughter died in his throat as the merry hubbub started up again. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears. One more would return to the earth and surely this time he had risked his skin for exchanging words with him, it was bound to come out during the trial. And in that case, he would be accused of being against the Revolution, or worse, of participating in the counter-revolutionary effort.


	3. Germinal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Kit for having helped me

On this cool April evening Flynn was walking down the street with his jacket pulled up over his head so as not to get drenched by the torrential rain raging outside. He had to cross a good part of the city to return to his living place, but rather than going back home, he was going to find a long-time friend. A friend who was dear to his heart and who was deeply involved in the revolutionary effort at his side, she did her best to make her little womanly voice heard.

Flynn’s friend came from a wealthy background, a military family. Her father left to fight to help the Americans free themselves from these British fifers and unfortunately did not return. So when everything had degenerated, she stood ready, ready to take the sword and fight alongside the people to claim their rights. Taelia was a woman of value and was exceptionally upright. She did not give way in any way, held on to her goals. She was rarely seen in petticoats and toilets, preferring breeches and gaiters. If all these ladies were to be whitened by rice with carmine red lips, the young woman with jet hair had never been reluctant to spend time in the sun, on the contrary. If she was noble by blood nothing testified to it. Even less her friendship with Flynn who was against all social rules. But to hell with these social rules! They were there to abolish them! Destroy them! End it and live in a free and equal state for all. This freedom was dear to their hearts and souls, and many more were willing to sacrifice more than they had to get it. Distress was a powerful weapon, misery was the arms that held it and the people were its voice.

Finally the poor Parisian arrived at the tavern where he was to find Taelia. He hadn't seen her for a little while, each time he had to find her a weight settles in his stomach, and if she had been tried and the Death Reaper had come to visit her? But each time he found himself facing those sparkling green eyes and that smile that no one else had. He shook his old coat, which had holes in it, and finished walking towards the table where his friend was sitting. Each step he was reporting accompanied by a spongy noise. Ridiculous noise that accompanied him wherever he went, he would have to think of going to a shoemaker or stealing the boots of one of these nobles condemned to the gallows so that his thick woolen socks stop drinking all the water that fell from the sky. He finally sat down next to Taelia whose smile split her face even more when he got to his side while making a sign for a pint he knew was of poor quality.

"Flynn! How are you? How is the guard of the prisoners? "

Flynn let a stream of air pass through his nose halfway between a sigh and a sound akin to a breath of pride.

"Very well! These dogs only get what they deserve! "

The waitress put the beer on the table when Taelia wanted to speak again. However, Flynn cut her off before she could.

"I spoke with one of the prisoners. I don't know, I almost felt sorry for him. Do you believe that? "

"What I think is that it is no less human. Who was it? A religious person?? A junk noble who wanted to make your head spin?? "

The man shook his head.

" Nothing of the sort. He was the king’s personal spy. "

And to punctuate his sentence he raised his beer to his lips to drink the contents while Taelia watched him with her big green eyes wide open. No doubt she must have said that at last they had caught him. Or when it was a big catch. Whatever she might have thought Flynn hadn't known, he couldn't interfere in her mind to guess what she might be thinking.

"Why don't you interrogate him rather than guillotine him?" "

Even she suspected that the prisoner had less time to live than it took to say. Flynn shook his head, resting the half-empty wooden mug on the table of the same material as the aforementioned mug.

"They interrogated him. It is useless now. But, I want to help him. "

"Sorry?! "

Taelia got up, clapping her hands on the table, surprised and misunderstood by the announcement. She looked around before settling down more calmly and leaning over to her friend, speaking confidently.

"Do you realize what you are saying? He’s a royalist, a nobleman, he’s with the King. He’s not like us Flynn, he’s against us, as soon as you release him he will stick a knife in your back and run away revealing what he has learned about us. "

"We just avoid the guillotine. If we hide him, nobody will ask for anything. They just are alcoholics who keep the cells at night. I'm sure they'll just sip some wine and fall asleep on the table without even looking at who's coming. We could get him out without anyone knowing. "

"Flynn, this is a bad idea. You risk your head by doing this.” Taelia looked up to see if someone was watching or listening to their conversation but everyone seemed to be more busy drinking and singing than doing anything else. "I am willing to support you with all my heart, but I would like to avoid going through the guillotine if possible. "

"It is a risk to take but do you really want to live in a country where we have to sacrifice our freedom to think and act? We are fighting for that now and the exact opposite is happening. Innocent people go under the guillotine every day. "

The brunette let out a sigh from her lips. "Let me think about it." "

"Perfect! When the Moon is high in the sky tonight, join me for the Conciergerie! "

And on these last words, he got up, finished his beer, kissed the top of his friend's skull and put down a few francs and left the tavern. If he was going to release the prisoner with Taelia, he would have to arm himself and his sword was at home. It was while whistling La Marseillaise that he returned to his shabby little apartment. Flynn was not a bad guy, quite the contrary, but he just wanted to defend the last thing he risked losing in this Révolution, his freedom of expression. Flynn was a good revolutionary, a good guy, like all those who were on the streets of Paris but those who commanded them were gangrened to the marrow for some.

It was a few hours later, when he realized that the time was approaching that he split in the opposite direction to reach the meeting place, he did not know if Taelia would be there or not. He hoped she was there. The girl was intelligent and could be of great help. And it was with deep relief that he saw her when he arrived. Entering the Conciergerie proved to be quite simple for the two accomplices, Flynn knew the way and Taelia was content to follow him without emitting a single noise. The two walked relatively quickly on the stone floor of the old palace that had been turned into a prison. The corridors of this part of La Conciergerie had no more secrets for the redhead who went there every day and almost lived there. He knew the watchtowers and at this happy it was easy to guess that most of the people assigned to the surveillance had to go to sleep for having drunk too much or to watch the nobles saying their last prayer before their execution of tomorrow. Flynn may not have been the most cultured man on this planet, but he was smart enough to remember the conversation he had earlier. The king's henchman was not a cleric and in Flynn's opinion he highly doubted that he came down to pray so he made no detour to the Chapel. Instead, he headed for the cell corridor where he stopped when he spotted the group of people he had chatted with earlier in the afternoon.

Taelia motioned for him not to move. The men were dozing on the table and the keys that were going to be able to get the prisoner out of his cells were rightly placed on the table. She leaned over and picked up a gravel from the ground to throw it in another corridor and create an echo. No movement. These men, he thought, were really the worst guards possible. Rather, they were the ones who risked their lives falling asleep than Flynn and Taelia releasing the prisoner. Passing by the table Taelia grabbed the keys while minimizing the noise produced by them and caught up with Flynn in the direction of the wooden and steel door which kept the king's spy locked up. And when they finally arrived in front of it, she gave the keys to her friend who slipped them into the lock and opened the door.


End file.
